


On The Isle Of Thunder

by Kalyppso



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalyppso/pseuds/Kalyppso
Summary: During the campaign in Pandaria, upon the Isle of Thunder, Borgakh, an orc and veteran of the Horde, finds herself propositioned by Lor'themar. Initially to help the Sin'dorei, but subsequently, otherwise.
Relationships: Lor'themar Theron/Original Character(s), Lor'themar Theron/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue in this is anywhere from 20% to 80% ripped directly from the game. Jaina makes an appearance but goes untagged because it's both small and not favorable, and I actually really like her.
> 
> Mild depictions of violence.
> 
> A visual reference of Borgakh: [Here](https://omgkalyppso.tumblr.com/post/615416978010783744) and [more in her tag](https://omgkalyppso.tumblr.com/tagged/borgakh) . I describe aspects of Lor'themar's original model from Mists and aspects of his latest design in BfA, I like both. Reader's choice.

The cool winds of the Townlong Steppes rolled beneath a layer of twisting grey clouds. Whether it was a result of the season or the unstable energy of the Sha, Borgakh couldn't be sure. Regardless, the cool temperature sent pinpricks up the back of her neck as she brought down the magic kite the pandaren used to travel.

As she lowered to an appropriate height, she jumped from the enchanted object, happy to have solid ground beneath her once more, and feeling further emboldened by the sight of the bright red battle standards of the blood elves announcing this place as ... home adjacent. The standards caught the wind, warbling their displeasure at being handled so indelicately, and so too did the bright purple and red dragonhawks nestled beneath them.

Their master calmed them with a steady hand, and greeted the orc with a tight-lipped and desperate expression. The blood elf was a beauty, and Borgakh had to wonder whether the elves hid their imperfections with magic or if it was somehow related to their longevity. As the elf turned to steady the dragonhawks, Borgakh saw that she carried a large battle-bitten sword with a dark glowing hilt; she could infer that the elf was no stranger to combat.

"Hero, I am Scout Captain Elsia, are you the one answering my summons?" the stranger asked in Orcish, the gutteral sounds tripping out of her mouth.

"I am," Borgakh answered as she saluted her new companion, acknowledging the elf's title and militant gait.

"Then there is no time to waste," Elsia declared. Her hair whipping about her face as she continued, solemn. "Every moment we delay here gives Jaina and the Kirin Tor more of a hold on the Isle."

Borgakh hesitated, there was a lot about that sentence that she didn't understand, and couldn't understand  – Jaina had been an ally to the Horde.

"Lor'themar awaits us," Elsia continued, an order. "The dragonhawks know the way."

Swiftly, Borgakh once more took to the air, comforted by the warm body of the beast beneath her, secured by leather straps and the grip of her legs straddling the mighty wyrm.

Aflight, with the roar of the skies to offer some cover from the ears of the world, Borgakh called out, "Why was a summons placed for a skirmisher like myself? With the soldiers at your disposal – "

Elsia called back, "The Shado-Pan will insert themselves in our efforts here. It would be remiss of us to dismiss that there are those such as yourself working across this continent and gaining the favor of these peoples  – you are a symbol. Additionally, you are a resource  – one that can be moved about a battlefield with more subtlety and finesse than the troops you might represent."

It sounded to Borgakh as if they had already lost soldiers, and were looking to minimize future losses, but she dared not ask. Elsia's expression was grim even at this distance, and she cut a striking sight across the skies; dim light catching the gem of the glorious tiara she wore and shining across her face and her ride.

"We will be approaching the border now .. of the Isle of Thunder. It is the home of Lei Shen, the Thunder King  – the brutal founder of the Mogu empire ... from over 12,000 years ago."

The island did come into view, along with the Horde ships approaching from south-western side. Borgakh shifted uneasily  – so many threats of the past in Azeroth resurging ... and now new troubles. Why should Jaina be leading forces against them? Shouldn't she be back in Dalaran pursuing the treaties that Borgakh and many like her had been awaiting since the fall of the Lich King? Since the founding of Thrall's Horde?

The ship on which they landed was a grand vessel, but failed to impress Borgakh all the same. Perhaps because it was so large from the air  – an easy target, or maybe because it was decorated in the red and gold that the blood elves loved so much  – an indiscreet siren, or that it appeared so bare and want of supplies on its surface  – did even barrels of water not fit the aesthetic of the elves?

Elsia marched Borgakh to the Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas, an elf she knew only by reputation, but whom she could instantly recognize commanded respect. Unlike the power that Elsia appeared to wield, Lor'themar's was not subtle  – his scarred and wrinkled face an instant testament to the challenges he must have overcome. Although decorated in stylized fancy-dress as the elves often were, he was a warrior, clad in armor, and wearing a dark bronze eye-patch over a sunken portion of his face.

"You have arrived just in time," Lor'themar greeted  – failing the niceties Borgakh had associated with rank. Though the orc was caught off guard, Elsia bowed her head respectfully to her leader and smiled encouragingly as she made her way to the back of the ship. Lor'themar tilted his head forward as he continued, "It is crucial we gain control of these shores before the Kirin Tor; and there is much to explain." With a hand on his chest, he dismissed another elf in his company, "Aethas, leave us for a moment."

At his command, this other elf teleported himself away, but to where and for what purpose, Borgakh could only guess. Additionally she could not tell if this was done because he did not require the explanations she would, or whether it was because he should not be privy to them as she would be. Regardless, she followed Lor'themar to the side of the ship closest to the Isle of Thunder and stood at attention while he leaned upon his hands.

"Hero," he began, "...Borgakh, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes," she confirmed, a little awkwardly.

Lor'themar smiled. "You have served the Horde nobly across many campaigns. I feel I can take you into confidence."

Borgakh hesitated. She stood at the side of Lor'themar's good eye and placed her own hands on the railing as he leaned against it; each lounging, in their own way. A sign of trust. "I am honored."

"Our Warchief's campaign across Kalimdor and Pandaria is pulling the Horde apart at the seams. We are here to fight the Thunder King. Justice demands it, but Hellscream is too preoccupied at Domination Point to pay attention here.

"In defeating the Thunder King, we must seek out the source of his great power. We must claim it for ourselves ... as leverage against our "Warchief.""

"My Lord?" she pressed, although she was not altogether surprised. Garrosh had pressed the trolls from Orgrimmar, had all but butchered the tauren out of their alliance, and it was only with questionable shows of strength that he held onto the ... loyalties was a strong word for relationship with the blood elves. Borgakh had felt sick about it all together, and had hoped that Thrall or another in Garrosh's circle would council and temper him, while she continued her business outside the capital, away from events which were all too familiar.

"I imagine it has been some time since you were in a capital city?" Lor'themar asked as he leaned forward on his forearms, his hands dangling towards the water.

"I  – yes."

"Much has happened in Orgrimmar since you saw it last ... among other places. At Hellscream's behest an attack was waged against Darnassus from the seat of Dalaran. Jaina felt obligated to imprison and execute a number of my people for this transgression ... And now the Sin'dorei find ourselves being infringed upon from all sides." He stood, his long hair catching the wind, and the dim glow from his remaining eye glittering on the metal pieces of his armour, "We must be prepared in the event of an uprising."

For a moment Borgakh lost herself in thought. She had fought and sacrificed for the sake of her Horde, and she had to wonder what this agreement might lead to. How many orcs would Lor'themar ask her to slay  – and how many of them would be war criminals, either from the time of her childhood or from last week?

She looked to the Isle... Jaina was there, a woman she knew to be reasonable, and here stood Lor'themar, a leader whom she understood to have fought long and hard as a protector for his remaining people against just as crushing a threat previously; surely something could be done to bring peace back to her capital city, back to Dalaran, and beyond.

"I will win you this island, Regent Lord," she said finally, with a nod. As she made to salute, she was cut off, "Lok – "

"Look out!" he called instead, and they both ducked. A projectile stuck into the side of the ship, and Borgakh made to ready her bow, but the Regent Lord was faster, loosing a precise arrow towards the cloud-covered enemy overhead. "Ha-hah!" he laughed in victory as the mount and rider both plummeted into the sea below.

They remained crouched on the ship, their eyes to the sky as Lor'themar's soldiers scurried to and fro, their weapons at the ready. It was a long moment before the elves fell back at ease, but their leader was vibrating, Borgakh noted. His excitement for battle immediately obvious to the seasoned hunter.

"It will feel good to bloody my blade again," Lor'themar admitted, his honesty in this more shocking than his previous revelations. When he stood and the crew started to slow back to their preparations, he placed a hand on Borgakh's shoulder.

"You know how precarious our position is. Between the Alliance and the Thunder King, only with the help of heroes like you can we hope to succeed here." He walked them back to Elsia, speaking of the island, the Shado-Pan with which Borgakh would be working, and dismissing her to the company of his soldiers with a strained expression, "Anar'alah belore, hero. Good luck."

The mission quickly turned into a massacre. By way of the dragonhawks, only Borgakh and Elsia made it to the isle  – all her other soldiers plummeting from the skies to their deaths as magical lightning struck their targets. This left the duo to fight a small army of Zandalari trolls in service to the Thunder King and secure their coastal town for the rest of the blood elf contingent to make landfall. Although Elsia fought just as hard for her life and her goal as Borgakh, the elf still sang her praises with each passing moment, which only caused Borgakh to feel even more guilty for the fallen. She had no control over their protection while they were airborne, and yet still somehow it felt ... so abrupt.

The elves seemed ready to die for their cause however, as all seemed to celebrate this as a victory when they settled into the town she'd taken. Even Lor'themar spoke with grandeur as he discussed their progress.

"We will be as a tide that sweeps over this island, bringing with it a new destiny for our people. And you, Borgakh, are at its forefront."

"Should I prepare to depart on this mission?" she asked.

Lor'themar shook his head, walking forward, to her side, so that she would turn to face away from him at the construction that riled around them. "No Champion," he assured her. "You have brought glory to the Horde. Your unshakable will has secured our position.

"We must work towards entrenching ourselves, so that we can risk pressing forward into the Thunder King's lair," he explained. "Perhaps on the morrow."

As she watched the elves and their constructs busy themselves with building and maintaining a barrier and a barricade, Borgakh felt ... emboldened. She turned to Lor'themar. She was more than a foot taller than he was, and yet, he was the tallest blood elf she'd ever spent time with. Their eyes were caught instantly, and she wondered whether her face was alien to him, or whether her pain was as plain as it felt. She asked, "The soldiers I couldn't bring back ... Could you tell me of them?"

A practiced mask flit over his face, but the distance of leadership was unmistakable. He extended an arm to dismiss her, but to her surprise he answered kindly, "I have other matters to attend to. Though there are others here who knew them better than I, I would be happy to sit with you and talk, in an hour or two."

Borgakh bowed her head to him as she left his company, "Thank you."

While walking through the camp, she passed two elves magically cleaning the blood of her victims from the stone terrace. Borgakh hurried to where Elsia organized a group of knights and insisted upon being assigned a task  – glad of the distraction. She met a number of elves in her labour who had known those that had fallen intimately, for as long as three centuries in some cases.

The hunter felt the guilt nestle deeper into her stomach.

This was why she preferred to work alone.

Being responsible for people when you knew their lives would be lost was a Warchief's position ... and one she would never be ready to hold. Knowing that these elves who had died alongside her, had known people for longer than ten times her own lifetime was overwhelming.

After an evening of sorting supplies, Borgakh excused herself, and hid just within the boundary of their encampment, to press her hands to the soil, and pray to the Spirits that those she had lost today would find peace, regardless of whether their own traditions could be honored, or the bodies recovered. She longed to cry out to the Element of Wind, as it was clearly so strong here, but she held her tongue, as that would draw attention, and possibly not only from her own outpost.

The sun set late here, but it was still dark by the time dinner was rolling out in shifts. Borgakh thought about rejecting the food, but quickly realized how disrespectful this would be, and sat with some mages she'd spoken to earlier while they enjoyed a simple stew. She watched when Lor'themar finally came down from the pedestal they'd pirched him upon and sat at a table level with the elves he'd been keeping council with, as well as a handful of soldiers, knights and untitled warriors.

She bumped her spoon against the inside of her bowl, remembering Thrall, and how his leadership had begun: being viewed as a child, even by her, and winning the confidence of many of his allies not in combat, but around the hearth. Lor'themar's rule had started not too long ago, particularly by elven standards.

Borgakh brought her bowl to her mouth to swallow the warm broth, still staring and caught in thought when the priest seated next to her cleared their throat, indicating their annoyance with her foreign table manners. After darting her eyes to this person, she elbowed them gently, and finished her meal before replacing her bowl on the table. She then proceeded to wipe her mouth with her hand and dry her hands along her thighs for good measure.

"Do they always eat with their charges?" she asked the same priest.

"Not in Silvermoon," they answered after a moment, carefully breaking apart some tuber vegetable in the stew to fit their spoon.

"How old is your Regent Lord?"

"Nearing 700, I believe."

"Young for an elf then?"

"Not as we stand now. You'll find few more than a few centuries old after the fall."

Borgakh knew a little of their history, but hadn't actually heard more than a song about that particular historic battle. After her own ... discomposure this afternoon upon losing three soldiers, she could not ask the elf sitting next to her to relive the loss of so many to offer further explanation. She felt satisfied that she knew enough.

They were older and wiser than she, and yet they were promised that they had their whole lives ahead of them while facing the reality that they might fall in defense of their families and their way of life at any time. Not for the first time, Borgakh remembered her youth, spent in hatred of the Horde and Alliance both, and her faith in a peaceful future, that Garrosh had stolen from her. If there had been any doubts in her mind in regards to helping the elves, she found herself more secure in her decision, and perhaps more resolute in her goal.

It was an approximate total of five hours before Lor'themar approached her, all apologies and politeness.

"Champion, I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Please," she said softly in forgiveness, "it speaks well of you that your time is so occupied."

"But not organized," he droned.

They stood at the edge of camp, and Borgakh let him lead her towards the shoreline. The air smelled of salt and fire, ocean and magic, the barriers and the torches, all of which also touched the colors of their surroundings in deep blues, purples and reds.

"You were asking after those who came ashore with you?" Lor'themar asked.

"I did, but perhaps I spoke out of turn. I learned a little from our warband, but... I slowly stopped my questions. Do you honor your dead another way? Was I rude in asking?"

"Not at all. I am hopeful that before the week is out we can send a scouting party in search of their bodies, either when they are retrieved or when that hope is lost, I will organize a funeral of sorts, but I cannot risk having my remaining forces caught in grief before even their first battle."

"Then tell me, which of them had you known the longest?"

She found that she wasn't surprised that he knew far more than the names of his dead, and what might have once started as a test of his character, became a warm conversation of those who had been lost to time or battle. Their conversation hushed as the occasional blood elf passed between them, to and fro from the ship, ever working; and then would bloom back into raucous noise when Lor'themar would miss a single Orcish word and his whole sentence would fall apart.

It was when one such moment had overlapped, as they hushed their questionably appropriate laughter as a dark cloaked mage walked by, that Borgakh confessed, "Even so, I can barely string together three words of Thalassian."

Lor'themar led his companion to a cluster of crates, atop which he took a seat, careful to keep from crushing his cape. "That could change. Do you have an ear for languages?"

Borgakh thought it was very considerate of him to ask, rather than assume her ignorance. She felt heat rise to her cheeks and gently bit on the sides of her tongue to cut that shit out before answering, "Yes, actually. Intention and repetition are often the key. I would say that besides Orcish that I have a handling of Gutterspeak and Pandaren now, and a passable vocabulary in Zandalari. Maybe a slight understanding of Common."

She smiled in spite of herself when Lor'themar blinked in astonishment, "Pandaren? I have barely a handful dedicated translators who can safely say they are fit to cover Pandaren."

"Well, I have lived here five months now..." she chuckled, "so what is that? Thirteen elf years? Living among them in Halfhill was what synched it for me. I couldn't order pumpkin seeds if I couldn't speak to my local grocer."

"Pumpkin seeds?" he asked with a confused smile, his brow crinckling around the strap of his eyepatch.

"I worked a farm ... I own a farm, in Halfhill," she corrected herself. When he continued to look skeptical and astonished, she sighed. "I imagine you wouldn't have expected that the Champion of the Horde you called upon was someone who had spent their time earning the trust of the locals by cooking and weeding? Don't worry, I faced more than enough threats to know the violence of the Mogu, the Hozen, the Jinyu, the Alliance and the Sha... I've been ... very busy."

"If you have such a diplomatic understanding – "

"I was not able to resolve those conflicts with diplomacy, Regent Lord."

"No, no, but... You successfully earned the favor and honor of a people while injecting yourself into their lifestyle... Most of our forces ... even Nazgrim, haven't been so successful."

"Nazgrim is more bound by responsibility – " she started aggressively.

"You need not defend him," Lor'themar assured with a raised hand, stopping his companion before she was able to fully lose her composure. "I simply wish to say that I am pleased that it was you we called upon to work with us here. Even if you were not what I expected."

Borgakh offered him a casual salute, partially in apology. "I hope to earn your praise on the morrow."

"Of course," he answered with a nod before taking to his feet. "I'll take my leave now then. To rest for those challenges."

"Good night, my lord."


	2. Broken Chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: references to slavery.

The following day the elves decided that the best way into the Thunder King's Lair would be by blasting a hole in the outer wall of his fortress. It wasn't a terrible plan. To match the storms which raged overhead, Borgakh summoned Thundermaw, the lightning wolf of Northrend, to fight alongside her and her unit as they encroached upon the enemy’s lines.

The air raged with the energy of swords clattering and voices crying out. It was strange to understand the taunts of her enemies more than the calls of her allies. Borgakh paid careful attention for Elsia and Lor'themar's structured exclamations of orders and ravenous declarations of their enemies' destruction, weeding out the intent of their words, and watching the troops for any intricacies she might be missing out on.

They successfully used their explosives on the outer wall ... and it became immediately apparent that there would be far too much territory to defend if they hoped to press their enemy into the inner wall of the fortress, but they would take this opening and defeat a number of captains before heading back to their outpost.

Borgakh took charge ahead of the lines, doing her best to secure the attention of larger targets as the warband followed. Elsia caught up to her as Thundermaw guarded against a monstrosity of a man who called himself a War-God, and the pair riddled him with arrows until the lines of blood knights found their way to their victory.

Soon, Lor'themar too was on their heels, and Elsia approached him, a scolding tone in her words. Borgakh could imagine that she attempted to convince him that he was too valuable to risk on the battlefield, but caught sight of his self-assured posture  – still low and ready for a fight, a bloodied weapon in hand, and could tell that he would not be dissuaded any more than the other leader of the Horde.

"Champion," he called out as he stood up straight, "again you are at the forefront of a Horde triumph. And once more, I am in your debt." She was glad her visor hid a roll of her eyes, disrespectful as that might be. "Regroup behind the wards everyone," he continued, and Borgakh had to wonder if they thought it odd that he should offer these orders in Orcish. "They will counter-attack ... but we will be ready."

Two mages quickly set up a portal for the Regent Lord and his commanding forces. Borgakh followed them through to the Promenade they had secured the day before. Already the camp was taking shape into a place of proper repose.

"Quickly, to the war council," Elsia ordered, pulling Borgakh from her mind, and the two of them hurried to stand in attendance with the commanders.

Lor'themar sheathed his longsword and spoke wildly with his hands. Borgakh wondered whether he was trying to convey something she wasn't picking up on, and listened to his words carefully.

"I must ask you to yet face greater dangers, Champion. Your loyalty and trust are appreciated, Borgakh."

She wondered again why he felt it necessary to single her out, but then saw the eyes of the soldiers. She recalled him saying that she was present as a symbol, but she had assumed it was for the pandaren, who were not present. She tried to act the part. With hesitant confidence she acknowledged his praise, "Strength and honor, Regent Lord. I am at your command."

"We are going to divide our forces. With the opening we created, the Shado-Pan are ready to attack from the land, but the Thunder King's mining operation is vulnerable to attacks from the air. When you took this outpost, you secured a pterrowing, and it is the only beast we have that is assured for flying out there. With the help of the Shado-Pan and this beast you've recovered, I believe we can infiltrate and disable the Thunder King's armory. My Sin'dorei will remain here, to hold our position for when the counter-attack comes. Are you ready to once again take to the sky?"

"I am ready."

Elsia led her to where they had tucked away the pterrowing, and she informed Borgakh that there should be a Shado-Pan agent prepared to assist at the entrance of the mines. They whispered about the monstrous demeanor of the mount as Borgakh did her best to placate the animal while attempting to clamber atop it. She assured the blood knight that she would be able to fly the creature, and they wished each other luck.

Regardless of the assurances that a pterrowing would be safe from the magical lightning of the island, Borgakh found herself struck by it, an enemy below calling up to her. When the second strike hit, she brought the beast into a descent, allowing it to flee as she jumped off  – taking a third blow of her foe's lightning attack before she could bring herself into a run and call for Thundermaw.

Having been immobilized by this foe a few times before overtaking him, Borgakh jumped at the sound of a voice behind her when he fell, but the words were in Orcish and she soon lowered her bow.

"An impressive victory."

The Shado-Pan agent was dressed sleek and had her daggers drawn, perhaps prepared to step in if the fight had proved too challenging.

"You could have helped," Borgakh answered in Pandaren, and the Shado-Pan stiffened defensively.

"I will be at your side in these coming fights," she answered in her native tongue. "You may call me, Taoshi. I will destroy this cave in, then we will sneak into the belly of the beast."

"Alright, Taoshi. I'm Borgakh, and I'm ready to go."

Thundermaw barked.

Once inside, the mining operation instantly became visible for what it was.

"Slaves," Taoshi said with disgust. "Everywhere slaves. You can see what we fight against."

Borgakh released a deep breath through her nose. Garrosh was keeping slaves in all but name. How many of the pandaren knew? How many of the orcs who had come from Outland could appreciate the irony? How many orcs of Azeroth were complicit? She hoped Taoshi would interpret her silence as something other than her internal struggles, and pressed on.

They slaughtered the Mogu slavemasters, and the miners ran up and out from where they'd come. The duo did not spare a moment to speak with them as they made their way deeper into the twisting mine. When the soil beneath them was wet and the air around them stagnant, Taoshi raised a hand to halt her companion.

"We are in the heart of the Mogu war machine," she whispered. "There will be a gate on the far end, wherein I believe some of your allies will be waiting, but before that, we will undoubtedly face the prospector, the head slavemaster of the mine. Can you hold his attention while I undo the lock on the gate?"

"For as long as you need. I will hold him," Borgakh promised with a darkness in her voice.

She challenged herself to have this foe in pieces by the time the gate was opened.

She only barely succeeded.

A team of elves ran in as soon Taoshi completed her task. They spoke with her in Orcish, and truly, Borgakh was surprised that it would be the common language of the Horde even here. Two of their team set to opening a portal, and she found herself further taken aback when Lor'themar was the second one through.

"Rangers!" he called out without looking. "Smash the forge. Smash the gate, so that it cannot be closed!"

Two lines of rangers set to completing these commands, and the infiltration team went to aid their brethren. Leaving Lor'themar to address Taoshi, "Incredible work. I knew the Shado-Pan would make excellent allies."

"We share a common enemy, Regent Lord, nothing more," Taoshi answered, and the strict tone she took cut into Borgakh as she thought of how much more the Horde might come to disappoint her, if she already had this impression. Even so, the pandaren bowed.

"Regardless," Lor'themar continued, his tone holding its optimism, "we have delivered a terrible blow to the Thunder King today. Horde metalsmiths can begin studying Mogu fabrication techniques immediately."

Taoshi snapped upright and threw her arms out in protest, "With all respect  – these abominable tools should be destroyed!"

"In good time, my pandaren friend. In good time." Lor'themar assured her, without much success.

Borgakh would feel more sick for it if it were others in the Horde taking control of the mine, but if at least for the moment, she felt confident that the elves would pursue ethical study of the Mogu weapons and shackles. She would certainly appreciate any insight into how to escape from their bindings or dismantle their more complicated weaponry. She decided to leave these two to their discussion and followed the elves to help with their study. 

Borgakh truly only managed an hour at most in review of their smelting moulds when a messenger came in search of her. The Shado-Pan wished for her to join them for supper. Graciously, she presented herself for the inspection of her new allies.

Taoshi addressed her politely, even with the same lack of warmth as before, when introducing her to their leader, Taran Zhu. He was a large pandaren, dwarfing the bowl in his hand. Borgakh noted that they were not eating the same fare as the blood elves. She did her best to answer their questions with muted details as they prodded as much as they dared about the intent of the Horde, her interactions with the Sha, and the lands she came from.

She leaned heavily on her scant knowledge of the shamanism of her people to try and offer common ground with their spiritual concerns. It was a weak bridge that she nurtured, but she felt confident that she had done just as well in this social interaction as could have been expected of her. All this while harbouring Lor'themar's secrets and intentions. Surely they would not be pleased to discover that the Horde intended whatever power lay within the home of the Thunder King for vengeance and ransom.

"I hope we are not interrupting," Lor'themar declared as he and a band of three blood Elves approached their long table. It sounded more like a challenge than an apology.

"Not at all," answered Taran Zhu. "What can we do for you, Regent Lord?"

"I would have a word with our Champion, if you've finished with her?"

"Of course," he answered as he stood, and so too then did the whole table, a dozen of them at least. "We will prepare strategies to offer you at sunrise. It was nice meeting you, 'Champion.'"

"And you, my lord," Borgakh answered, allowing them to leave before standing and making off with the blood elves.

The group of them walked down the road until they were out of earshot, and Borgakh expected some secret orders or interrogation, but Lor'themar smiled gently as he directed an open hand to one of their companions.

"This is Rama Ulleria," he said by way of introduction, and the elven woman offered a nervous wave. "I have asked her to offer to teach you Thalassian when time allows, should you be interested."

"It is nice to meet you Rama," Borgakh began, as a blush crept up her neck. "I wouldn't want to take up your time," and she addressed Lor'themar, "or the time of your soldiers."

"It's no trouble," Rama chimed in. "If we both find that we are at camp in the evening, then I mean to be available for a lesson or two, perhaps at least so you can know if we ever need to call for retreat, or to meet back at the ships?"

Borgakh smiled at this kindness. "Very well then, but not tonight."

"Of course, Champion," Rama replied, bowing her head and looking to Lor'themar inquisitively.

"Then you are dismissed," he assured her. As Rama turned to leave, he dismissed their remaining entourage with a wave of his hand, and then explained, "Rama is otherwise occupied with translating the Zandalari and Mogu communications we've been uncovering."

"She seems quite passionate, then?" Borgakh inquired, still confused.

"She's ... young and hopeful," Lor'themar allowed. Borgakh nodded, and an unsteady silence fell between them before he spoke again. "May I ask? It's very hard for me to gauge the age of your kind. How old are you exactly?"

She scoffed and then laughed, her eyes squinted in a mockery of scorn. "You did a good job segueing into this question."

"I promise I did not plan to – "

"Are you sure? Most ranking members of the Horde want to know: Where were you ... during the crossing of the Dark Portal?" He pursed his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but Borgakh plowed forward, her tone more sincere and apologetic. "I was ten when I came to Azeroth. I am entering my fortieth year."

He looked ahead absently. "I was still in school in my fortieth year."

She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, and Lor'themar fumbled as he brought a hand to his chest and spoke, "I knew most of your people had to learn or relearn to fight in the past few decades, but... You're telling me that you've likely never been to a school and already speak something of five languages?"

She raised an eyebrow as she answered, "You make it sound as if I've never had anyone to guide me. Of course I've had mentors: in language, in cooking, in how to hold a bow or dismantle a gun. I am not undisciplined."

"Of course, I'm... I should be more mindful of my words, before I accidentally say something disrespectful. I mean to say that ... if these other duties of yours are too time consuming, you need not bother yourself with Thalassian while here on the Promenade."

They paced back towards the camp, and Borgakh rolled her eyes. "You might think that you're offering me a kindness, but it still feels like you're suggesting I'm incapable of learning."

Lor'themar straightened one of his long sideburns as a blush rose in his cheeks. "You're right. I am not rescinding the offer. Being able to hold council in Thalassian would be preferable for many of my commanders. I trust you'll make an effort?"

She laughed in response, a heady growl; maybe a little more orcish than he was expecting. Lor'thermar's hands went to his sides, as if to reach for a weapon. Borgakh laughed a little more freely before saluting him. "Get fucked, Regent Lord."

He winced and smiled; confused, amused, accepting of his faux pas. She took her leave.


	3. Injured

Much of the following day was spent in preparation. For what, Borgakh couldn't be quite sure, but Lor'themar and the Shado-Pan could be heard disagreeing over their next course of action from across the camp. When her daily tasks brought her too close to the strategists, Lor'themar called out to her, and Borgakh felt her shoulders tighten.

"Ah! Champion, we were just talking about you."

Before she could answer the greeting, Taran Zhu spoke up angrily, "It does not matter. Taoshi's proposal is too dangerous."

"The sheer audacity of the plan is exactly what intrigues me," Lor'themar explained to the grizzled warrior. "If we breach the shipyard, we will deprive the Mogu of further Zandalari reinforcements."

Toashi moved to stand beside Borgakh while the two men lowered their voices. She moved her large paws emphatically as she pleaded her case. "Borgakh, hear me out: We strike the shipyard at night, using the magnificent beast you have tamed."

"You've seen me fly him, Taoshi. Tamed might be a strong word."

Taoshi plowed onward. "Once inside, we sabotage the Zandalari ship. In the chaos, we will slip into the courtyard and open the gates from within."

"This is very high risk," Borgakh warned Taoshi. "If we die, do they have a back up plan?"

Taoshi shook her head. "I might be able to accomplish this alone, save for the strength of some high value targets. If I can get you to them, then I know you can take them down. We can do this."

They let their attention return to their respective leaders.

"Surely you agree that decisive action wins wars, Lord Zhu," Lor'themar insisted.

"Very well, Taoshi," the Lord of the Shado-Pan conceded. "If your Champion here agrees, the mission may proceed."

Taoshi looked like she was about to burst with excitement, but the Shado-Pan maintained her composure and bowed respectfully as she accepted Taran Zhu's approval. "Thank you, Lord Zhu. I will not let you down."

The Shado-Pan left to prepare, and perhaps to inspect the pterrowing, and Lor'themar moved to stand next to his champion.

"Zandalari warships plunder the seas around the island," he explained, unnecessarily. "They ferry in soldiers and war beasts... If we can capture the palace shipyard then their supply lines will be cut and our foothold secure."

"Attacking them as a siege would give them an advantage," Borgakh agreed, "but I don't know about Taoshi's plan."

Lor'themar raised an eyebrow and prodded, "Oh? What happened to delivering me an island?"

Borgakh scoffed. "I will do as you command, of course; but if Taoshi were killed or injured, I don't know how forgiving the Shado-Pan might be." She hesitated, "Why not secure the seas with your navy? We have created two gaps in their resources already. They will need to leave their walls to feed, as any other beasts."

"We are already guaranteed to lose soldiers when we raid their vaults in search of the source of their power," Lor'themar said at a whisper. "And we must get this resolved quickly for my people in Dalaran."

He glanced over Borgakh; she was rubbing her forehead and her thick purple bangs in one large hand, nodding.

"Is there news of Jaina Proudmoore that you can share with me?" Borgakh asked finally, straightening up to face him.

"Not ... at the moment," he answered carefully, and Borgakh nodded once more in understanding.

"Then worry not, Taoshi and I will secure the shipyards by morning."

Taoshi was an accomplished rogue. The mission went as smoothly as she'd promised. On occasion, Borgakh did have to use a well placed shot to more aptly remove threats before they could sound the alarm, but it wasn't until they were at the courtyard gate that she had to call upon Thundermaw's help at all, where they battled against a giant Mogu who called himself the Gatekeeper. In the time it took to oust this enemy, Borgakh learned that Taoshi had a habit of taunting her foes. She decided the Shado-Pan was quite endearing.

When they opened the gate, Elsia and a contingent of blood elves stood in wait.

"Rangers  – shatter the hinges! Wedge the doors open!" Elsia ordered before rushing up to the infiltration team. Beaming, she continued, "Your plan worked! The two of you accomplished the work of an army."

"The fighting skills of my companion are quickly becoming legendary among the Shado-Pan," Taoshi praised.

Thundermaw nudged his nose beneath Taoshi's hand.

"You give me too much credit."

Elsia interrupted, "The Regent Lord will want a full report. Let's get you two back to camp  – you have earned a rest."

A portal was opened for their convenience, and Borgakh winced upon leaving a battlefield, from which she could hear the remaining Zandalari clash with the blood elf forces, but she had been awake for nearly twenty-eight hours now and the offer of rest was welcome.

Once at camp, they presented their findings and detailed their adventure for the ranking blood elves and Shado-Pan, Taoshi's story tailored with jabs at Lord Zhu who was forced into a position of praising his successful lieutenant. A short discussion was had about how to route opposition and maintain control of all the new territory they'd taken from the Thunder King's followers.

Borgakh's head wobbled a few times in exhaustion before they were dismissed, and even then, Lor'themar held her behind. They walked to the far side of the rise on the Promenade where he was keeping council, a mock sun well obscuring them from the crowds.

"I wanted to thank you privately, Borgakh."

She shook her head, and answered with a lazy, tired drawl in her already gravelly voice, "Save your thanks for the soldiers I left to clean up."

"They will be honored as well," he promised, chuckling before composing himself again. "In truth, I wanted to admit that when you voiced your opposition earlier ... it concerned me: that you would be counselling me about overplaying my hand, and that I might appear disinterested in your opinion, rather than faithful of the ability you've continued to present time and again during this crisis. It was a great fault of my predecessors to stretch themselves and our people thin. Many have paid for it ... Sylvanas being the most public example.

"I appreciate your insight, and am personally relieved at your victory. Professionally gratified," he added with a sway of his head.

He stroked absently at the beard growth on the side of his face with a gloved hand, and Borgakh found that she would be curious at the material of his garment, or the texture on his handsome face. She blinked five times, dismissing that inappropriate thought, before answering, "Your concern is touching, but you've yet to say anything that might risk my loyalty or commitment. I can do this Lor'themar." Her whole face froze for a second and she looked down and away as she corrected herself, "My lord."

"Oh?" Lor'themar peeped as he extended his hand to her shoulder. "You may call me by name."

She searched his face with a quizzical look for a moment before conceding, "I might."

She smiled and looked through the golden veil of light at the Shado-Pan moving as a silent herd through the camp. "It must be frustrating, balancing the needs of the Shado-Pan and the expectations of your people."

He laughed, and he was open, and Borgakh found it more comforting than his previous admissions.

"Not as much as you'd suspect. They keep me honest, at least."

She lowered her brow skeptically. "Do you have much trouble keeping honest?"

"Only around my friends," he teased.

A blush crept up around her cheeks as she caught sight of his glittering fangs. They hardly held the threat of an orcish maw, but they were certainly charming. Her armor jingled as she stood up straight. "Then as my friend, let me sleep. Just an hour or four?"

"Of course," he said cheerfully. "Hopefully our plans will accommodate as much time as you require."

"Maybe the Thunder King will come to surrender while I rest."

"Maybe."

Borgakh slept until she could smell dinner cooking, and then sought out Rama and spent the evening in study. Though shaky and with a terrible accent so far, she had at least mastered being able to declare her allegiance with the Sunreaver Onslaught and a few directional commands before they parted for the night.

She caught sight of Lor'themar standing over a table of tactical maps next to the open courtyard. A Shado-Pan and two of his captains stood just behind him, pointing out different aspects of note. Elsia and another guard stood just to the side of this ensemble, and the Scout Captain nodded Borgakh over to the gathering.

She was gently briefed on the discovery of a letter in Townlong Steppes from the Isle of Thunder detailing the delivery of a valuable asset. They were determining where on the island the asset's escort might try to make landfall, and the best way of securing such a delicate resource.

Borgakh injected herself into the conversation, and ensured they were aware of a temple she and Elsia had seen at the centre of the island, voicing concerns that there may be others like it, with more passages or resources to get them into the Thunder King's halls. Lor'themar moved to allow her to stand closer to the map, close enough to wrap an arm around her. When the commanders were satisfied with the information, and establishing the best defense points, while avoiding Alliance soldiers, Borgakh did her best to fade back out of the group, bumping Lor'themar's shoulder gently as she slipped from the crowd. They exchanged a polite smile as she continued to wander away.

The following morning Borgakh was called for at sunrise, to make her way with a contingent of six blood knights in the south-eastern mountains to try and locate and combat Thunder King forces which may or may not even be there. It was an extremely stressful day. She made light conversation with the soldiers in her company, but besides the need for silence and attention, there were also obvious language barriers.

When it turned out that their group had drawn the short straw, and Mogu forces were found in the rocky crags, Borgakh found herself missing the silence. She did her best to call the attention of the bulk of the enemies to Thundermaw, allowing the blood knights to creep in from the sides and avoid the direct attention of their quarry.

Even so, a blood curdling scream broke through the din of combat as a giant Mogu cut through one of the blood knights.

Borgakh ran towards the noise, and caught sight of the enemy, a giant pale blue object strapped to his mighty back. She called for her pet and loosed several careful shots at her enemy, but he was diving towards her, faster than her allies could reach. She watched his great axe come swinging downwards, and jumped back as far as her legs would carry her, bashing her back against a great stone, but saving herself from the blade.

She cried out the only relevant Thalassian word she knew to bring her allies attention to the strange object strapped to the Mogu's back, "Target! Target!" Continuing in Orcish, "The asset is here!"

Thundermaw and a blood knight caught up and stole the attention of the giant Mogu, and Borgakh did her best to aim a secure shot as she shuffled back towards the rest of the fighting. When this arrow struck the giant Mogu's chin however, she could tell that his focus would not be deterred as he focused his great eyes upon her. She took to a run, trying to obstruct his path, but too slow. She felt his large hand wrap around her head and saw his great axe swinging for her side, and braced herself for impact.

Borgakh awoke laying on her back, a shift of her arms revealing she was not in her armour. She blinked open her eyes and saw the priest she'd spoken to once before at the Promenade, and looked around herself to confirm that this was where she was. The closed tent looked right, but was this a dream or an illusion? Pain jolted through her body and distorted memories of that giant Mogu and his large axe flooded her mind in a horror. The hands of the priest hovered over Borgakh's stomach and shone a white light towards her, but as she groaned the priest shied away from her, and darkness filled the tent.

When the light stopped a terrible all-consuming pain bloomed from the deep wound. She roared at the healer, who scrambled further away.

With the light gone, it took a moment for Borgakh's eyes to adjust, and when they finally did, she moved a constricting blanket from atop herself, lifted a short white shirt someone had tucked her in and started tearing at the bandages that held her. She had to see the injury, she had to see what they were doing to her. The priest was objecting but not advancing, and Borgakh could hardly hear the elf.

Soon her hands and the sheets were red with blood. She had torn more than a single stitch, and pressed gently around the wound, and was relieved for just a moment as she only felt flesh where the healer had been working, but now she was panicking again. Her arms twitched and Borgakh began to hyperventilate. She turned her head to the priest and closed a fist in their robes as tears stained her eyes. "I need a weapon."

"I-I'm sorry?" the priest answered shakily.

Borgakh jumped to her feet; her heart and mind surging with adrenaline. She remembered blades cutting into her body, magic searing her flesh, fel blood pouring down her neck, bandages dripping with blood and ointments, comfort and healing from people she was supposed to be able to trust. She nearly collapsed to the floor, but still the priest backed away from her as Borgakh took a wobbly step forward, repeating, "I need a weapon."

She lunged at the healer, her voice threatening, and more lost than she was intending, "You must have a blade."

Her movements were sluggish, and she startled when the priest called out for the guard, and thus caught no purchase of those swaying robes. Even so, Borgakh did her best to eye the priest's sleeves and belt, looking for any solid glittering pieces.

Three armored knights came to the priest's calling, and Borgakh was diving for them. She took a knight to the ground, the both of them grunting at the impact. She was lost, unable to hear the voices around her. Without much thought she was punching her quarry in the side of their head and grappling with a knife at their waist as she turned to look at the other encroaching threats. They looked angry and concerned, large swords at the ready.

"Champion!" the priest shouted, undoubtedly, not for the first time.

With a pained expression, Borgakh looked away from her judgmental acquaintances, and went back to struggling with the guard beneath her. She found herself fighting against another knight grappling her from behind, and was unable to defend herself when the third knocked her out with a sharp elbow.

When she woke again, it was with her arms bound to the frame of the cot and an itching sensation crawling up the network of stitches along her side. Borgakh shifted in the bed and could tell that her dressings had been changed and felt her eyes once again sting with tears. A guard was seated at the edge of the room and she grunted to catch their attention.

They straightened and squeezed their hands around a pike. "Oh! Oh, um. I should tell someone you've woken."

It was very soon that they returned with the priest and Elsia in tow.

"Champion?" Elsia greeted warily. "Do you know where you are? Do you know who you are?"

The priest kneeled beside Borgakh's cot and pulled a wet rag out of a bucket of water, attending to the twisting pain in her side.

She sucked in a breath between her teeth before answering. "Yes, Elsia. I am Borgakh, once of the Warsong Clan, now of Orgrimmar, and I was injured in the service of the Sunreavers while on the Isle of Thunder." 

"Good," Elsia consented. "Do you know why you are bound?"

"I ... I hurt someone."

Elsia sighed, "They'll live. Are you in control of yourself now?"

"I ..." Borgakh hissed as the healer snipped at something. "I would still like a blade," she admitted, before shutting her eyes and turning her head away. "How did the battle finish without me? How did I get here?"

Elsia answered sadly, "Poorly. The Thunder King has his prize. Most of your team survived. Three others are in critical condition, and only one has died. The others brought you back."

"How long has it been since that battle?"

"Eighteen hours or so. The sun will be rising soon." A silence passed before Elsia asked the healer, "Can she eat? I'll have someone bring food."

"Yes, Scout Master."

"Borgakh," Elsia said in parting, as she and the guard left.

She didn't speak with the healer as they worked but did call out a weak thank you when they departed next. 

It was only a few minutes, lying in empty agony, unable to think about the scope of her failure, before the tent reopened once more. Lor'themar held open the flap, at least two others at his sides. Borgakh tried to sit up, and struggled against her bindings before looking away, defeated. She could hear the party stride inside, but refused to look back at them.

There was some hushed Thalassian, some clinking, and then the sounds of people leaving the tent. She glanced over, and saw Lor'themar, alone. He faced away from her, attending to something on a table. She twisted her face away sharply as he began to turn. 

"Borgakh," he called as he took a step forward.

"Yes?" she grunted.

"Look at me," he ordered, and with scant hesitation, she complied. She felt naked in the white clothing and sheets they had wrapped her in, as he stood there in his regal armor. His eye softened, "I'm told you want a weapon?"

She turned her eyes to the floor and nodded.

Lor'themar approached her bedside, kneeling to the ground and starting on the knots that held her closest arm. He asked in a tone dry with worry, "Only with which to defend yourself, I hope?"

As soon as her arm came free, she twisted away from him and started untying her remaining restrictions. "I ... I also thought to open my wounds." She sat up and turned to look at Lor'themar, eye to eye. "Not to injure myself," she explained, fisting her hands in the sheets on her knees. "I've simply ... heard stories of spells and curses being etched into the flesh of my people and then sewn back down so that we are ignorant of their extent and meaning." She looked away again, ashamed. Lor'themar could see the soft twinkling of her eyes through her dark lashes. "I see now that this ... was likely paranoia."

He brought his hands down to his boot, and she watched him carefully, ready to strike him depending on his actions and decision. He was retrieving a knife. Yet he handed it to her, hilt first, with a patient smile. "You can keep this by your bed for the next few days, but I promise you, that you were always in the care of my people, and our intentions in approaching you have always been honorable. We want your help, but we will not enthrall you to get it."

She took the blade, and had to repress the urge of jabbing it into her stomach or her neck or her eye. She gripped it tightly with both hands, the blade gently slicing a gash across the fingers of her left hand.

"I failed you," she whispered. "I failed those you entrusted to me." She opened her hand and watched the blood on her skin distractedly, "What does this mean?"

"We still have hopes of victory," Lor'themar said comfortingly. He placed a warm hand on her thick shoulder, careful to watch the blade. "There are plans in motion. However I do not wish to discuss them. You need to heal for at least a day or two. Then I'll update you on what we still need to accomplish."

She nodded and closed her fist before turning away from Lor'themar to tuck the blade into the strappings and frame of her cot. As she moved away from him, he let his arm slip from her shoulder to her back, and she stiffened and relaxed, turning to him with tired eyes. She closed her mouth quickly, embarrassed that she'd been breathing through it. 

Borgakh moved again to speak, to comment on how kind and forgiving he was being compared to others she'd represented, but all that came out was a sob. His glowing eye blinked wide as she descended into a cascade of tears, falling in on herself. He moved to pull his hand away for a moment, and then leaned in, wrapping his arms around as much of her as her imposing figure would allow.

When Borgakh started to pull away, Lor'themar loosened his embrace. Her face was covered in tears and sweat and blood as she ran her cut hand across her face. 

"I'm sorry," she croaked.

"Not at all," he answered awkwardly. "I mean, it is no trouble." He sighed, a jovial look on his face, resting a hand on his knee. "But you'll be alright, yes? If we need you to fight again?"

A large mouth of sharp teeth smiled weakly, and promised, "I would jump to my feet now if you asked."

He nodded, and returned the broken smile as he got to his feet, "Good then." He fetched something from the table as he continued, "At least eat, for now; and I'll keep you apprised as needed?"

"Thank you," she conceded, accepting a bowl of something warm and fragrant, feeling ... absurd upon being served by the Lord Regent. It would have been embarrassing enough to be served by a friend while injured like this, and not her leader. "For everything."

He bowed his head before exiting, leaving Borgakh to flush. She would let the healer worry about whether it was from fever, the food or embarrassment.


	4. At The Mercy of Responsibility

She spent the day in the care of various healers. She had the option of studying with Rama, but turned it down as the bruises on her head bloomed and thrummed distractingly. However she did visit those who had gone to fight with her, strapping her knife under the side of her skirt. Few words were exchanged with the injured, but moments of understanding, and forgiveness, and a shared failure were commonplace. She never parted their company feeling good, but better than if she'd avoided them.

That evening they ate steamed fish and a local root vegetable Borgakh had never seen before Pandaria. She sought the Shado-Pan to perhaps share this with, but none were to be seen, and so she was left to worry at her plate with a handful of elves who treated her as if she were fragile; either on the verge of collapsing or the edge of exploding. She didn't blame them, and yet chewed on the utensils they'd provided her in irritation, bending one slightly between mouthfuls.

When she readied herself to leave, only herself and a healer remained seated at the long table. But then a hand pressed on her shoulder, and Elsia took a seat beside her.

"It's good to see you, Borgakh."

"Always a pleasure, Elsia," she returned while trying to hide her utensils.

"Tell me. How many new lands have you ventured, only to be seriously injured?"

They both took to giggling before Borgakh answered, "Less than you, I'd suspect?"

Elsia shook her head around a mouthful of food, "You would be wrong. I've heard you've left Azeroth on more than one occasion."

They spoke of adventures in muted terms. Talking of forests, and peoples, and meals, while avoiding the harsh discussions of tragedies and violations. Even if it was about trivialities, it was good to speak so casually with another. It was only when Borgakh's bones started vibrating in pain that she once again tried to dismiss herself, and the women parted on good terms, a little friendlier than before.

Late that night, while left to her own devices, Borgakh heard a familiar voice call out her title from outside her tent. She hesitated calling back, her hands caught in untangling her braids. A purple curtain of hair puffed up and out around one side of her head and shoulders, but still, she placed a comb next to the candle by her bedside and answered, "Come in."

Lor'themar stepped inside the flap of the tent with a bounce in his step that Borgakh couldn't quite place. She bowed her head and greeted him, "Evening, Lord Regent."

It was almost as soon as she'd brought attention to his title, that she watched him dismantle it in front of her. He closed his eye and sighed in exasperation, rotating his shoulders and loosening his posture. When his gaze caught hers again it was with a lazy smile creeping over his aged features. Her breath hitched as he moved to take a seat beside her bed and his expression lightened even further, with a raised eyebrow and a flash of fangs.

"Do I frighten you?" he teased.

She blushed and looked away. "Hardly."

He leaned back on his hands as he hummed, "Good. I thought I'd see about spending some time somewhere I could relax before retiring for the night."

She squinted skeptically, returning her hands to dismantle her hair, "You're awfully trusting."

He shrugged, before distractedly running a hand down the braid in his beard, perhaps subconsciously mirroring her hand movements. "Trust has to be given before it can be earned or broken."

He admitted, softly, "I've come to find that the same is true with friendships; whether someone will be a friend in earnest, rather than a friend to the Court of the Sin'dorei, or an ally, will generally only be discovered after gauging their behaviour after a few conversations."

"We've barely spoken, and you've known me only a few days, and yet you trust me with this also?" Borgakh prodded, loosing the last of her hair.

He nodded at an angle, signaling his acceptance of this criticism. "True." He looked at her directly and she froze with her hands at an odd angle coming down from her hair. "I suppose some of it might be bad judgement. I do feel closer to you than I should. At least you didn't stab anyone after I armed you in secret."

She shoved gently at his shoulder as movement returned to her, and she remembered wrestling with other children as a youth, ages ago. She definitely felt Lor'themar could benefit from an exchange of hands in a mud puddle. She imagined his hair a tangle, his face and body heaving with exertion and power, and had to roll her eyes and look away from him.

"Maybe I'm just waiting for a better moment."

He chuckled. "I'll be on my guard." Lor'themar cleared his throat and then continued more seriously, "But I am sorry that our treatment of you caused you such distress."

"Oh. No, of course I'm sorry for my behaviour. Your healers were trying to help me and I ... overreacted."

"With reason."

"Regardless."

Lor'themar sat up, crossing his legs. "Did you know we were concerned that you might not wake at all? Or that you may wake as an agent of Garrosh? But when I saw you ... I knew that feeling. That determination that persists through being broken. When I lost my eye, I failed to lose consciousness and had to become very intimate with that feeling."

Borgakh shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose my injuries must seem trivial to you."

"Not in the least," Lor'themar assured her warmly. "You've hard earned this battle-scar, and I am relieved that this is all it will be."

There was a pause in conversation. Borgakh found it comforting, and moved to swing her legs over the side of her cot. She blushed heavily, her bare legs stretched out next to a leader of a nation.

"I imagine your family will be too?" he asked.

"What?" she answered, nearly incredulous.

"That you're alive. Scarred, but not exactly worse for wear so far. I imagine your family will be relieved."

Borgakh thought of the few faces she knew in Orgrimmar, wondered at their safety, and shuddered; her head shaking as she assured Lor'themar, "I don't think anyone will really be waiting for news about me. Certainly not anyone I'd call family."

Lor'themar opened his mouth as if to speak, but shifted his shoulders and looked away before settling upon, "That's awfully sad."

She could tell that he meant it, and shrugged. "As far as I know, you're hardly different. You must confess a certain freedom comes with knowing that an army could go on without you."

"There's more to living than what we contribute to a battlefield," he answered skeptically.

She pursed her lips; a hopeless expression. "For me there is only the Horde, and if how it will have me is on a battlefield, then that is all that I am." She looked away from him, sheepish. "You realize I could never have expected to stay in Halfhill. I could never be a farmer, or an engineer, even a cook. The Horde needs these resources, but that is not how I can fulfill my duty to my people, or my promise to you."

"You cannot live on a front line," he said critically.

"Then I will die there," she agreed, meeting his eye. "I know this. Just as you must have, once. Your soldiers do." She sighed, "But perhaps your people have the privilege of time, and can expect that if they simply crush that threshold, the remainder of their days can be spent in the walls of Silvermoon or somewhere else far away. Every home I've ever had has been a battlefield. If anyone will ever miss me, it will be in the context of war."

"I admit, if you had fallen yesterday, I probably would have thought of you that way."

The way Lor'themar spoke, Borgakh could tell that he was ashamed of this admission, but she wasn't hurt by his words. This made it all the more surprising when he shifted his hand to rest atop hers between them. Reacting, she clenched her opposite fist, but took a moment to breathe and appreciate the warm comfort he offered.

"But I'd like to know you better."

His words tickled and scratched at the back of her mind, even those she did consider friends had hardly said anything similar to her before. Her voice shook as she struggled to bite back her rude reply. "Why?"

Lor'themar chuckled, his complexion rosier than it had been before. "Well, at the very least, you seem ... honest? Compassionate?" He hesitated. "I'm struggling not to say 'strong' because I worry that that will get conflated in Orcish."

She joined his quiet laughter, pulling her hand away and wrapping it around her chest. "No, I'm sorry. I wasn't ... fishing. I'm just surprised."

He took the hand that had been holding hers in his opposite hand and rubbed his palm absently. "Good," he teased, "then I'm relieved." Lor'themar stood, relaying the truth of his statement, "And I'll be off to retire before I embarrass myself further."

"Lor'themar," Borgakh called to him as he approached the wall of the tent, and she could hardly help the smile that spread across her face as he turned back to look at her. "It is always a good idea to compliment an orc's strength."

He flushed a little, his mouth falling open, though not quite enough to see his fangs, his red and gold figure aglow in the warm light of the candles. He bowed his head in parting, the smile clear in his voice, "Noted."

The following day Borgakh had her wound cleaned; the magic being worked upon it having almost completely sealed the gash into a large curved scar, the skin on either side of this barrier discolored in different ways between the bruising and the healing. The healers weren't secure enough to allow her to wear something other than the two piece white gowns they'd been dressing her in, but they tried to express some measure of satisfaction even so. Borgakh thanked them regardless of her persistent disappointment at her situation and distanced herself from her doctors when she made her way to breakfast.

Much of her day was spent making casual conversation with her companions. Unable to study with Rama who was in deep research with some tablets, she did her best to coax a few Thalassian words out of her compatriots so that she could at least repeat a few casual greetings, and a handful of constellations which they used to name their military positions.

It was around noon that four Shado-Pan came rushing through the outpost with panicked looks. Although she made eye contact with Taoshi as her acquaintance ran past, Borgakh stayed aside with the blood knights she had been gossiping with and repressed the urge to do anything other than speculate with her current company at the calamity these spies brought with them.

After a minute or two, the blood knights went to ready themselves. The Promenade began to buzz. Borgakh held her side, feeling like the chaos alone would cause her injury to split and her innards to spill on the ground. She went to sit on a stool in an open tent where some mages had brought in a make-shift library, where she watched for any real decisions being ordered out, rather than simply nervous preparations by soldiers on edge.

It wasn't long before Sabarathan, the priest who'd been spending so much time at Borgakh's side was striding up to her with purpose. Their expression was one of exasperation. She did her best to remain neutral as they composed themselves.

"Lor'themar will be here in a moment," they said. "He will ask if you are fit to fight, and he will ask my opinion. If it were anyone else in your current physical state, I would deny them. Too much activity will threaten to tear open your stomach, and explosive force could severely damage your spine."

"But I'm to say I'm ready?" Borgakh concluded, nodding.

"Yes."

Sabarathan didn't elaborate, and Borgakh didn't ask them to. Instead she allowed them to stand behind her and apply more holy magic to her side while they stood in wait.

Borgakh would have expected Lor'themar to be escorted as he so often was during the day, and so she was surprised when he presented himself alone. He addressed them each by name and a nod, before focusing the weight of his gaze upon Borgakh.

"It is sooner than I would have liked to call upon you again," he said simply, "but: you're ready?"

"Of course, Regent Lord."

He made eye contact with Sabarathan, and hesitated, "And you've done all you can? Our Champion is fit to fight?"

"Many have fought through worse," Borgakh interrupted, as Sabarathan squeezed her shoulder, releasing their healing spells.

"She is well enough," they assured their leader.

Lor'themar took a deep breath before nodding his understanding. He turned his attention again to Borgakh and ordered, "Then, fetch your arms and armour, Champion; we press on the Thunder King's throne room at once."

He left her stunned, but not paralyzed. She asked Sabarathan for help fitting fresh wrappings around her dry skin just in case, and they even arranged for an extra set of hands to help tie her into her heavy mail armour. When she made her way to the Promenade she was greeted by whispered voices and stern glances.

Taoshi was among them, and the woman greeted her with a weak smile and a tilt of her head. The Shado-Pan strode up to Borgakh and placed a hand on her shoulder, and addressed the group aloud, "We're leaving."

Borgakh allowed herself to be ushered away from the Promenade, and it became quickly apparent that the 'we' Taoshi referred to, was only the two of them.

Taoshi strode purposefully, and was just as to the point with her words. "Long ago, Lei Shen found a rare clutch of storm dragon eggs. One of these creatures – Nalak – was particularly brutal, and Lei Shen took it for his own."

Borgakh nodded as Taoshi looked back to her, but withheld her questions: Who was Lei Shen? How was a dragon egg known to be brutal? Were dragon eggs often named? What did any of this mean?

Taoshi continued, "The Thunder King's servant, Shan Bu, works to resurrect Lei Shen's dragon, Nalak.

"We must defeat Shan Bu and, if we are able, prevent him from resurrecting the dragon before the full moon tonight."

Borgakh thought of the object strapped to the back of the Mogu who'd caused her most recent injuries. She grit her teeth and shut her eyes before observing, "The egg? I failed to secure this dragon egg."

Taoshi shrugged and shook her head. "It makes sense that it was well defended. More so now after we made an attempt to retrieve it previously. You have this opportunity to work with us now though, to redeem this failure."

"Where are we going?"

"To secure the gates at the entrance to the Thunder King's palace, so that the Sunreavers have a destination and focal point for their soldiers. We have a number of Shado-Pan hidden throughout. They await our signal."


	5. Keeping Company

It took longer than Borgakh would have liked to accomplish Taoshi's goals and signal their various allies. The sun was long since set by the time the elves started portaling into the final gates at the Thunder King's palace.

Elsia greeted Borgakh warmly amidst the company of her fellow captains. A blood elf ranger approached the group to confirm, "Everyone is in position, but..."

"Yes?" Lor'themar urged.

"The Alliance is waiting just across the courtyard."

Lor'themar postured and directed his troops about. Borgakh was relieved when both sides withheld their animosity for the sake of fighting the Mogu. She caught eyes with Jaina, but couldn't read the other woman's expression as she had to continue pushing past the fray to follow Taran Zhu in his confrontation with Shan Bu and the freshly hatched dragon.

When their fight concluded, Borgakh and Taran Zhu leaned on agents from the Shado-Pan as they made their way back to the courtyard, both injured and impaired in their movements, where they found the Horde and Alliance in a stalemate. Borgakh felt her heart sink and her knees waver as Jaina looked her over with disappointment and disgust.

The human mage didn't address her however, and pointed her staff menacingly at the Horde.

"Hand over the Archmage, and I may yet allow you to walk out of here, Lor'themar," she threatened in common.

Borgakh watched the blood elf she'd seen on the ship shift awkwardly as Lor'themar leaned forward, answering her in the same tongue, "Proudmoore! You will release my people from the Violet Hold, or I will cut you down myself!"

She scoffed, lowering her weapon, "Your people are legitimate prisoners of war. They orchestrated an attack on Darnassus from MY city  – "

Lor'themar took a step as he interrupted, and the soldiers on both sides crouched into a ready position, "The Sunreavers knew NOTHING of Garrosh's raid on Darnassus!"

"ENOUGH!" Taran Zhu ordered in pandaren with a burst of magic, sending the soldiers falling to their backs. Borgakh strongly felt this was premature, as the conversation was yet ... as polite as it could be under the circumstances.

"There will be no more bloodshed today," Taran Zhu insisted, walking up to stand between the conflict. Taoshi hurrying behind him to offer translation in common. "I see now why your Alliance and your Horde cannot stop fighting." Borgakh leaned away from the Shado-Pan helping her stand, intrigued at his assessment.

"Every reprisal is itself an act of aggression, and every act of aggression triggers immediate reprisal," he concluded, and Borgakh punched the pandaren offering her aid away from herself, insulted at this conclusion.

Jaina and Lor'themar seemed to also find no comfort in the Shado-Pan's wisdom, each calling out their own objections.

"They have undermined EVERY attempt at peace!"

"I must protect my sovereign people."

"SILENCE!" Taran Zhu yelled, holding his authority over those who didn't really want to fight each other anyway. "YOU must break the cycle. It ends TODAY. Here. The cycle ends when you, Regent Lord, and you, Lady Proudmoore, turn from one another. And walk. Away."

Borgakh took a step forward, approaching the Sunreavers, watching the leaders weigh their allegiances, their remaining troops, their pride.

"Rangers," Lor'themar called out, without looking away from Jaina. "Lower your weapons."

"My Lord!" Elsia objected.

"Do it," he commanded with finality, and the blood elves stood down, at the mercy of the Alliance and the Shado-Pan. A pause filled the air and filled their hearts before Jaina threw out her arms in exasperation.

"Very well," she agreed. "We will stand down."

"They killed my husband!" screamed a high elf in her company.

"This won't bring him back," Jaina said, morose, and the woman crumpled, denied her vengeance. Jaina winced before pointing at Lor'themar, "But know this, 'blood' elf: There can be no peace while Hellscream is Warchief of the Horde."

Borgakh wondered whether Jaina could see the Regent Lord's mouth curl at this revelation as he answered, "That is precisely why I wish to conserve our strength today."

He took to a bow. "Lady."

Jaina curtseyed with a raised brow. "Lord."

Lor'themar, after being the first to disarm, was also first to turn away from his enemies, though Elsia stood close beside, watching the Alliance with a deep and unwavering hatred. He ordered those before him, "Gather the wounded. Withdraw to the harbor."

Jaina turned next, and issued similar orders. Borgakh met eyes with Taran Zhu and it was obvious that he meant to share words with her, but as the Horde started walking away ... she turned from him and moved to follow her allies. 

Back at camp Borgakh met up with Taoshi, who was collecting the Shado-Pan supplies and bringing them to their new camp within the walls of the Thunder King. Taoshi was all compliments and hope, and yet had more to ask of the Champion.

"All that remains is to defeat the Thunder King. We will join you when you are ready ... but first you will have to marshal a small army!"

"Is that not what we've been doing?" Borgakh asked, nodding towards the troops on the Promenade.

Taoshi shook her head, "The Shado-Pan will assist, but ... the Sunreavers haven't left my leaders with the most positive impression. You will need to recruit others like you: champions of their cause, without being ally to it. I do not foresee Taran Zhu working with your Regent Lord again."

Borgakh clenched her fists and nodded. "I'll send word once I've organized."

Taoshi smiled sadly as she made her exit. "We'll be waiting."

The Promenade was full of injured blood knights and working soldiers. They had won something of a significant victory, and yet the mood wasn't the joyous revelry that anyone may have hoped for. Borgakh was hesitant to pull a healer from any of her allies, but was caught by Sabarathan when she tried to sneak a few bandages, and they brought her to her tent with an affectionately reproachful look.

They didn't say anything as they took to helping Borgakh remove her armour, and Borgakh didn't press for conversation. There were slight instructions, like to raise her arms or lean forward, or to brace herself. This session with the healer was less magically led than her other experiences, as soap and water, a simple needle and thread, ointments and healing draughts replaced the warm glow of the Light they so often relied upon. She could tell they were exhausted, both magically and otherwise.

"There," Sabarathan said when they'd finished. "You should try to sleep. I'll need to as well, and either myself or another should see you again in five hours or so before the stitches start to set so that we can – "

"I don't mind the scarring," Borgakh interrupted, gently reaching out to touch Sabarathan's shoulder. "You can save your magic for your brothers."

They shook their head. "It would be shameful. I'll be back in a few hours to check on you. If you walk around, be very gentle on that side. I don't know that we could spare the time to restitch you."

She nodded, understanding, and called out a thank you in Thalassian as they left her tent before laying back and letting her mind wander.

She thought of how the blood elves had only been blood elves in name for the past few years. It was within her lifetime they had ceased to be the high elves of the Alliance.

She thought of the founding of her Horde, and how it may only survive one Warchief.

If the blood elves were willing to abandon their leaders and millennia of structure for the sake of survival and honor, then she and her kin should have been more prepared to leave the Horde. She was going to end up fighting her old allies regardless, if only to keep her word to the Sunreavers. If Garrosh ordered her to come home to Orgrimmar, would she go? Would she accept execution if their plans failed?

If Jaina returned home to Dalaran and culled the elves in her prison, would the Sunreavers still see value in pursuing the power on the Isle of Thunder? Would they be more motivated to dethrone Garrosh, or less?

As Borgakh mused, she listened to the steady footsteps of the elves at camp and had to wonder if she tried voicing any of her concerns, whether they would find her accusatory, when in reality she would ultimately judge no decision of theirs. It was hard for her to keep the short history of her life in order when deciding on her future. How could she begin to understand remembering hundreds or thousands of years of history?

Regardless, she longed for their company, these blood elves who knew enough to forsake those who divided their people. She pushed herself up and looked through her bags for some light and loose clothing for the sake of her injuries.

Dressed in a thick cotton button up and low waisted brown slacks, Borgakh made her way to the cooking fires.

She easily found company. Everyone's schedule was destroyed, and the cooks were preparing soup and bread. She made light conversation with them, doing her best to stay out of their way, being limited in movement and certainly incapable of helping their efforts. Occasionally, a healer or a diplomat would come to collect a few bowls and the gossip would take a turn for the more serious and somber, but more often they shared quiet laughter and idle tales of kitchen learning.

It took less time than Borgakh would have suspected for the camp to wind down. The cooks were cleaning and simmering, some trailing off to find their bedrolls, and Borgakh was running out of reasons to stay. She found herself walking back across the Promenade, her need of clan and company still wanting.

She would never have presumed to take up the Regent Lord of Quel'thalas to fulfill her desire of community and conversation, but she saw that he was walking towards her, past her, and couldn't help thinking of him on his knee at her bedside offering her a knife. She felt dizzy at the realization. They were about to walk past one another when he seemed to see her for the first time and stopped just shy of passing his champion.

"Borgakh," he said, as if it were a surprise to see her, but his features started falling into a tired smile as he declared, "Shan Bu's fall will weaken the Mogu and your heroism will surely be remembered – "

She laughed, and then covered her mouth with her hand, sliding it down to her chin as she answered, "'Surely'? Why not simply say it will be remembered?"

Lor'themar brought his fingertips to his eyelid, an exasperated sigh tickling him into a single dry laugh, "Of course. My apologies."

"You should rest."

His sharp gaze quickly returned as if in defiance as he answered, "I'm not the one in need of recovery. How are your injuries?"

Borgakh shifted awkwardly, stretching a hand behind her neck, "You have skilled healers."

Lor'themar shook his head slightly but conceded, "I know. Then, if you're up, come, sit with me."

She didn't know where she expected him to lead, but certainly not to his own tent. It was situated between the docks and the Promenade and sat just off the path, unguarded from what she could tell. It seemed irresponsible, to not properly prepare for threats that may come from within their lines, but certainly more private than the quarters of other leaders Borgakh had visited.

Once inside, she found it mostly decorated in the same way as the other tents in camp, save for a small writing desk and long bench, a large trunk, and a single-seated sofa. She immediately took to the bench, mortified at the prospect of keeping Lor'themar from his own chair.

She teased, "You often keep 'company?'"

He smiled so that she could see the tips of his fangs, a soft laugh escaping his lips as he insisted, "Only Elsia, and healers. Not ... 'company.'"

"By choice?" she prodded.

"Yes, by choice," he growled, gesturing emphatically to protest her mischievous smile. "Now while I did ask you here as a friend, I meant for us to discuss some serious things. What did Taoshi have to say to you as we left the Throne of the Thunder King?"

Borgakh immediately sobered. She pressed her hand to her chest as she relayed the information sadly, "The Shado-Pan still wish to dethrone the Thunder King, and they hope for me to contact them within the palace, but ... they no longer wish to ally with the Sunreavers. They'll work with forces of my choosing, but not the Horde."

Lor'themar paused for a long time. He ran his hands over his face as he took the place she'd expected, in the seat across from her. "I suppose respecting this wish of theirs will be for the best, if only in the short term. Do you have people in mind? Should I send another messenger through Pandaria?"

"I do have some people come to mind. I may make use of your messenger; but would you think it best if I went in recruit of these forces myself?"

"No. I fear that others will demand your services in exchange for their own, and we'll need you here with the Alliance still running about. I still have some favors and allegiances I can lean on as well, should you require. Offer gold, plunder, the favor of Quel'thalas..."

"I'll see it done," she promised.

He smiled weakly, "You have been reliable so far. And I don't just mean in this campaign. Sylvanas spoke highly of you. And from what I understand, you've impressed Thrall and Vol'jin as well?"

"All coincidence," Borgakh said absently. "Chance, and circumstance."

"That is the way of things," Lor'themar assured her. "You can't say, I only impressed them because our goals aligned, if that is the very reason they were impressed."

"No," Borgakh insisted sarcastically. "They were impressed by my abilities. It is you who values that our goals align." She paused before sighing, "Even while I lose you allies."

He shook his head and shrugged, unclasping his cape and pauldrons. "I told you from the start that I needed you to handle the Shado-Pan."

She straightened in surprise before admitting, "I suppose I didn't quite realize what that meant at the time."

"Does it worry you?" Lor'themar asked, leaning his head back in his chair to stare at the ceiling as he sunk in his seat.

"No," she answered quickly before giggling. "I could leave you to sleep?"

He reached out as if to point two fingers in her direction, misgauging the distance, and stroking his fingers across her wrist. To his credit, he confirmed, "I'd ... rather you stayed a while longer."

"Of course," she assured him, reaching out her opposite hand to wrap around his gloved fingers.

Borgakh was surprised that it felt so natural, to start rubbing circles into the back of his hand, this tired leader of elves. She asked, "Do you have someone to do this for you in Quel'thalas? A designated hand-holder?"

Lor'themar chuckled. "By the Light, I would never hear the end of it if that were true."

Borgakh hummed a soft laugh as she used both of her hands to massage his one. "Well, I'm sure I don't know what you elves do behind your high walls. What affections are you allowed? A concubine?"

"I'm not nobility," he said with a teasing tone that Borgakh didn't quite understand. After her continued silence, he clarified, "Not being nobility, I wouldn't have an official extramarital paramour, no. I suppose I could hire ... company. I haven't, as of yet."

"But you ... hold your friends? For care and comfort?"

"On occasion," Lor'themar answered, rolling his head sideways to look at her, jolting his hand a half inch away. "If 'hold' is all you mean."

She grimaced and tilted her head to her shoulder. "I suppose. If that's all you'd want it to mean." She saw his expression change, but again, couldn't read it, and so added, "Nothing more intimate than my holding your hand."

As Lor'themar sat up, his fingers curled in hers again and she was able to see the warm blush of his cheeks as he whispered, "This does feel quite intimate."

She wondered if the flush on her dark green skin was as noticeable as the elf's. She could feel it, the promise in this moment. She savored it as much as she could, her eyes shaking slightly in the dim candlelight.

Lor'themar had positioned himself to be so deferential, so different to most of her friends. They weren't at odds: he was in waiting. He was breathing in long, slow breaths that people often reserved for sleep, and his clothes were rumpled up around him as he sat without poise in the chair across from her.

Nervously, Borgakh bit her lip before gently pulling on his hand. He followed the instruction, moving from his chair to sit next to her on the bench. She looked down at him through thick lashes and said, "Your hands must be quite out of practise if that felt intimate."

The multiple blinks of Lor'themar's glowing eye set Borgakh into a fit of giggles. He hummed a bunch of acknowledgements, nodding his way closer to her. She pressed her forehead to his and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, bringing her other hand up to rest a finger against his mouth as he stilled.

"That was unfair," she admitted, as she sat up away from him, letting her hand fall down to the top of his chest, the tip of his braid tickling the back of her knuckles. "And crude."

"Crude? Yes," he teased, moving his free hand to the top of her thigh and pressing his fingers just so. "But unfair? Only because it is far too late in the night for me to redeem myself."

His touch sent jitters through Borgakh's skin, and she pulled her hand away from him to hold her side, grunting in pain. As she tilted her head to look at him again after squinting, it was with an apologetic smile. "And I'm far too injured."

Lor'themar put his hand to the side of Borgakh's neck and she felt the concern in his touch, saw the attention in his gaze, sensed the desire in his aura. She could tell too, that if she pulled away that he would be disappointed, but there would be no struggle, no bitter end. She felt her heart swell and pound, safe here in the tent of the Regent Lord. It had been years since she'd kissed someone of her own volition, and maybe now wasn't the best time, and he certainly wasn't the best person, but she found herself leaning in.

She faltered just shy of his mouth, and released a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes in shame. Her mind was on the verge of thinking of others than herself, of time further than this moment, but Lor'themar brought her back; moving his hand up through the stubble on her scalp. He carefully encouraged her forward, and parted the distance between their lips.

Borgakh slid her hand up Lor'themar's chest, across his neck, until she held his jaw, the other still clutching her side, as she begged her body to cooperate, and allow her this. Her tusks bumped against him as he ran his sharp teeth over her lower lip. Softly, she groaned in pleasure and worry, which he echoed attentively. Borgakh opened her eyes for a second, to see his strained expression, before fisting a hand in his hair and daring to kiss him with more fervor.

After a few initial bursts of passion and interest, their kissing and caressing became slow and lazy, weighted down with exhaustion and injury. Borgakh pulled away from Lor'themar with three soft pecks, laughing tenderly, especially at his affectionately confused look.

"Is this something else you share with everyone? Until they prove themselves otherwise untrustworthy?" she whispered.

He laughed too, face-palming. "No," he answered, peeking between his fingers before lowering his hand.

"Were your lines about friendship bullshit too?" she prodded, rubbing her thumb in absent circles where his neck met his shoulder.

"Not entirely," he admitted, leaning into the touch. "I'm sure you can admit that other orcs, other heroes, would have reacted differently to what I proposed at our first meeting. The way you carry yourself, what you didn't say, and the benefit of your reputation made you seem ... trustworthy." He purred softly, "But at the time, I still would not have predicted this."

He brought up his hand to grab ahold of hers and tilted his head to kiss the side of her thumb.

Borgakh opened her mouth to speak, but caught herself as a bird call from outside echoed through the tent. She pursed her lips and shared a look and a nod with Lor'themar as she took to her feet.

"They're going to need us soon," she said sadly.

"'They' always do," he agreed, standing in turn, so that their height difference was thrown into stark relief. Her smile lit up the whole of her face as she watched Lor'themar dizzy a little when faced with the comparison in this way.

"Get some rest," she crooned. "... And thank you for inviting me to your tent."

His gaze flittered down to her mouth for a moment before he answered, "It was my pleasure."

She showed herself out with as much poise as she could manage, both wanting to leave quickly and not wanting to appear as though she were running away. Outside the air was thick and warm, and the dark sky was tinged in blue; she suspected there was maybe an hour before sunrise left. She would try to steal three hours of sleep before trying to live up to this reputation Lor'themar had of her. It would be embarrassing if she couldn't rally any forces after this unspoken promise of trust.

Borgakh heaved a sigh of relief when she made it to her own tent and quickly fell into a comfortable sleep.


	6. Questions Of Worth

Lor'themar tossed and turned. He knew that the following day would be excruciating if he couldn't get at least some sleep. He longed for the mental fortitude of four hundred years ago, when he could lose one night of sleep without too much consequence.

He had to wonder at what had just happened, and whether it would ever happen again. It was one thing to recruit a random hero of the Horde to fight for the Sunreavers, it was far another to expose himself so vulnerably to an orc, and someone he knew for so short a time.

He thought of Vereesa, the high elven woman from the palace of the Thunder King earlier that day, mourning her human husband, killed by Garrosh's forces. He wished things had been different for her and her love, even with the pride that separated her from their people.

Many elves shared fleeting romances, with each other and with the more short lived races of Azeroth. He wasn't unfamiliar with the former at least, and thought on the lovers he'd lost to death or duty. This felt different though, caught between the expectations of friends and enemies.

The complications curdled in his mind and the last thought that troubled him as he finally drifted to sleep was that he was investing too much. If she died or betrayed him tomorrow, it would make little and less sense to be heartbroken.

When Elsia came to fetch him for the morning rounds, Lor'themar almost felt a sense of shame that he was not already prepared for the day. He had her wait while he brought himself back into a state of dress and armour. However the exhaustion he had to shake from his head was too overpowering to bring himself to worry about her delay for long. If the camp wasn't ablaze, then the extra minutes could be spared; the Alliance too would be licking their wounds.

They accounted for injuries and recovery, and assigned two teams to review the status and threat of the Thunder King's remaining forces, as well as the presence of the Alliance. Some discussion was had in regards to the Shado-Pan, but Lor'themar was able to delay any concerns with vague assurances that they were still cooperating.

It was another hour or two before he caught sight of Borgakh across the camp. She looked much the same as she had the night before, if a little brighter and more sure in her step.

"Champion," he greeted, nodding to Elsia to stop their pacing. "You're looking well."

To her credit, she bowed politely. "I am indebted to your healers."

Borgakh held up a stack of parchment with both hands, seemingly nervous. "I thought that you might have someone you'd wish to review my missives?"

Lor'themar reached out to accept the letters. He noted that the papers and her hands were both smudged with ink, and suspected these weren't first drafts. He nodded at Borgakh appreciatively, thinking of her worrying over what words would or would not be appropriate in their pleas for aid. A quick flip through the letters revealed their number.

"Thirteen?" he confirmed.

"Yes," Borgakh sighed. "I don't suspect all I'm contacting will be willing or available to help, but most are in Pandaria, with one from the Undercity ... and two in Kalimdor. I'm hopeful that those who do respond will be amenable, and nearby."

"My lord?" Elsia queried.

He smirked at Elsia in response before addressing Borgakh. "Elsia and I will read them. We will send any corrections with two messengers for you."

"Of course," Borgakh answered with her orcish salute before taking her leave.

Certainly there were others that Lor'themar could delegate this to, but he was curious to read them, and happy to share with Elsia the true extent of the situation with the Shado-Pan before the other captains. Elsia wasn't surprised, but she was tactful; he suspected the others would be more prideful of the slight.

The letters were well worded, if not well written. It seemed the hunter had little practise with the written word. There were a few mentions of personal experiences, but even those were ambiguous, keeping her own business private but not removed. It was obvious who of the recipients she knew better, but still, her subtlety and fashion of broaching the request of the Sunreavers was polite and direct, offering nothing of the situations in Dalaran or Orgrimmar. Elsia offered to have the messengers rewrite the letters for legibility, but Lor'themar dismissed the suggestion, confident that most of these acquaintances might be less receptive to a formal appeal rather than a request from a friend.

By the time they dispatched the messengers, news from the scouts observing the Alliance had arrived, and Lor'themar and Elsia were informed that a contingent of Kirin Tor could be seen organizing a large number of Alliance workers. It seemed whatever they were doing was with far more organization and support than the Sunreavers were allowed. The scouts were encouraged to continue their observations, and to report back any means of weakening their enemy's position, whether by conflict or sabotage.

The perimeter of their own guard needed to be expanded however, with more options for advance warning should the Alliance make a move.

Much of the rest of Lor'themar's day was spent confirming his soldiers felt supported, that their barriers were strong, their leaders were assured, and their resources were replenished. This hardly made him feel useful, and he once again longed for just a minute or two outside of camp, be it directing his knights or investigating the threats on his own. He knew the following days would be even more stressful, with fewer and fewer tasks that he could complete, and thus less and less he might be able to accomplish in the eyes of his soldiers; at least until they could make that final push on the Thunder King's throne room.

While distracted by familiar faces at dinner, Lor'themar caught sight of Borgakh and Rama across the courtyard. He could only hope that the moment for which he'd fallen silent in his own conversation went unnoticed, as he watched the two women fall into laughter.

He worried that in his desperation to save his people, both at camp and elsewhere, that his gratitude for her actions were being conflated with other emotions. Regardless, she was a beauty, and now, sobered after rest and time, Lor'themar could feel his chest swell at the prospect of finding some relief from the rest of his burdens with a friend.

He hovered around the courtyard until their Thalassian lessons concluded, easily finding excuses to do so as people rotated in and out for dinner. Rama was walking with purpose back to their extremely limited library, and Borgakh remained at their table, pouring over some parchment. 

"Notes from your lesson?" he asked by way of greeting.

Borgakh looked up at him with her dark eyes and Lor'themar's ears twitched. He felt as if she could see straight through him.

"A few," she answered in Thalassian, nodding to the seat across from herself.

As Lor'themar sat, he raised an eyebrow as he asked, "What use could you have for that phrase so far?"

"A few, a lot, an army," Borgakh recited before returning to her native Orcish. "For scouting missions."

He chuckled. "Imprecise, but effective."

Borgakh nodded emphatically, but her expression was exasperated. "That does seem to be how I've been handling things, as of late."

Lor'themar quickly raised a hand in apology, "I meant it as no criticism. We've not been setting you simple tasks to accomplish."

"Perhaps," she conceded. "I just ... I hope that I am still viewed as an asset."

"Did you not defeat Shan Bu but yesterday?"

"But not Nalak."

"Well," Lor'themar scoffed, "with any luck the dragon might distract our enemies. If not, then we will face him." He felt no favoritism in insisting upon the truth, "You needn't worry about your position. You've been indispensable."

She smiled sadly, and it broke his heart a little that she remained so unconvinced. He shook his head, forcing the emotion away as he asked, "What makes you feel as though anyone else here is more worthy in their presence?"

Borgakh looked away, obviously ashamed. "Their birth mostly. I always hate intruding. I'm sure you can understand why I might feel that way ... about orcs intruding."

Their eyes met and Lor'themar relived a lot of the past thirty years, but amidst all the tragedy he could recall, he couldn't begin to imagine being a child, a young girl, in Gul'dan's horde. Her arms were crossed upon the table. He considered reaching out to touch her, but decided to lean on one of his own elbows instead, allowing her her space.

"Yes," he said calmly, "I can understand. But don't forget: you were invited." Her expression changed only slightly, but it was genuine and a small blessing. "Not all of our actions need to be a reflection of our peoples. You're right not to forget. But somewhere in between ..."

"Remember the Sunwell?" she offered sympathetically in Thalassian.

"Exactly," he said with a laugh, ending in a curse, "by the Light."

"Did I say it right?" Borgakh asked cautiously, moving a finger up in front of her mouth as she rested her hand upon her chin.

"No, no," Lor'themar assured her. "It was perfect."

He watched her ease and fidget, and quickly looked around the courtyard: mostly empty, as it would be for the night.

"Would you care to join me for a drink?" he asked carefully. "We could continue our conversation from last night."

At first she looked taken aback, and Lor'themar felt all the air catch in his lungs, but then that warm blush grew from her nose across her face and he felt all the tension leave him like a warm bath.

"I'd like that."

As calmly as possible they made their way through camp. Lor'themar was grateful that no one stopped them with any mundane business or supernatural disasters. He tried not to seem too eager as he held open the flap on his tent for his companion.

Once inside, Borgakh returned to her seat upon the wooden bench, and Lor'themar quickly retrieved a fat brown bottle from the trunk on the far side of the room. He opened it with a flourish and sat on the bed across from her, offering the bottle.

She accepted it, but did not drink. She eyed his position on the bed, tilting the bottle towards Lor'themar as she chastised him. "Presumptuous."

He felt his mouth go dry, unsure whether she was serious. He slid his hands across the sheet to either side of him, gripping the edge of the bed as he leaned forward and asked with as much pomp as he could muster, "Averse?"

The smile she gave him, all glittering teeth and golden promise, caused a tension in his chest that spread through his whole body. He floundered on a proper response.

She drank deep and handed him the bottle, which he accepted gratefully, needing at least a mouthful to find his tongue. Before he could find more to say however, Borgakh slouched forward to press her lips to his with a quiet desperation. She tangled her hands in his hair and around his neck, and Lor'themar could feel that residual thrill left by the tender touch of her thick, calloused fingers.

"Wait," he whispered suddenly, pulling away from her. Despite feeling her intent observations, Lor'themar took a minute to close his eye and catch his breath before asking her directly, "You ... you don't think you're here to earn your place, do you?"

His question was met with hushed laughter. She leaned in and gently gnawed along the bottom of his jaw, and he could sense how careful she was being with those threatening tusks. To further disturb his attentions, she trailed a finger down the edge of his ear, so that he was a mess of shivers when she finally answered in a whisper, "If I seem eager to please, it is because I am."

She reached down between his knees to pluck the brown bottle from his hands, and leaned away to look him in the eye, answering more seriously, "But I know: that you would be ridiculed, and I will have done the opposite of proving my worth here, if we are discovered."

She drank a second mouthful and Lor'themar couldn't help feeling guilty, as if he'd assumed her naivete, conflating it with his own. He accepted the drink for another swallow and found it being stolen from his grasp almost as soon as it left his lips.

She smiled at him, though only half her mouth was in it, as she turned to leave the bottle on the bench behind herself. Unhindered, she knocked his legs apart with her knee and encroached on his space, sliding her hands out and over the golden embroidery of his pauldrons.

"But that's alright," she assured him, her voice deep and dark as the sea. "I'll simply have to work harder." His breath hitched as he felt her hand slip down further between them, caressing the soft fabric on his stomach, and curling over the bulge between his legs. "And be discreet."

Lor'themar whimpered as she kissed him again, feeling safe in his exultations, and safe in being more forward about his interest. He reached up to paw at her, but only frightfully, lacking any sort of plan or intention. He struggled to find balance, craning his neck to meet her kisses, while opening his body to her touch.

"That kiss could satisfy me for a hundred years," he sighed, still in a daze when she started to pull away again.

"It better not have," she teased and gave the armour on his shoulders an uncomfortable tug. "Take this off before I break it."

The look of longing on Lor'themar's face was quickly replaced with affectionate amusement as he took to unfastening the relevant clasps on his armour. Borgakh's hands slid up over his chest as he worked, intentionally making the task more cumbersome than necessary, and tangling in the fastenings of more than just his pauldrons.

Lor'themar sighed in satisfaction when he was able to lay back with Borgakh atop his chest, parted only by cotton shirts and fleece trousers. The warmth of her body pouring into him as she straddled one of his thighs and gently lifted his opposite leg until he hitched it up with a flood of shivers and nervousness.

Lor'themar resisted the weight she pressed on his chest, enjoying the push and pull of the petting. She was pressing the large flat of her tongue to the side of his neck, and Lor'themar found he could barely reciprocate. He clung to the fat and muscle on her back, and writhed beneath her, causing the cot to creak so loud and angry that for a moment he braced himself in case it shattered.

She had him so effectively pinned, that it felt a wonder that her touch was so gentle and her passion so warm.

While nuzzling into his neck, Boragakh hummed appreciatively and groped the underside of his ass and the back of his thigh. She thought of how even the more gentle moments of intimacy in her life were failing to compare to the compliant interest Lor'themar was showing her. The adoration in the glances he stole ... might have been imagined on her part, but it was a favorable lie, a comforting illusion. She wanted to be lost with him, if only for a little while.

Curling her hand back from around his leg, she moved it to slide up the front of his shirt.

Lor'themar sucked in a sharp breath of air, different than before, and Borgakh pulled away instantly, fearful. Her expression relaxed when she saw his smile.

"Tickled me," he whispered. "That's all."

Relieved, she rolled back into him, pressing a tender kiss to his thin lips.

"But you'll tell me if I make you uncomfortable, for any reason?" she pressed, running her fingers through the hair on his stomach once more.

"I can't see that happening," he purred, caressing her face and the shaved side of her head, "but of course. And you?"

She pursed her lips and nodded in answer, rubbing her head against his fingers. "I promise."

With that out of the way, Borgakh brought her hand down to hook her thumb beneath the bottom of his shirt, pushing the garment up the front of his chest as her fingers slid over the hills and valleys of musculature. He was hairier than she expected, but still less so than her experience with human men. The scars on his body were less prominent too; scattered little starbursts and flat lines spoke of arrowheads and pointed blades, painting his body as a warrior, and the ranger he was.

Lor'themar faltered under her gaze. He wondered whether the worry that caused her to falter at his hiss a moment ago had to do with her interest, or concerns about compatibility. He had to say something, but couldn't bring himself to broach those more serious questions directly.

"Do I pass inspection?"

His playful question made Borgakh realize she'd been staring for too long. She did her best to match his tone, as she drew circles on his breast bone with her middle finger, "Hard to say. Why don't you finish taking this off?"

His face lit up, satisfied with even this small measure of praise. Borgakh found herself jostled away from him as he sat up to pull away his shirt from overhead. She doubted she seemed any less eager as she watched his thick archer's arms stretch and flex with this simple task.

"Spirits, but you're beautiful," she crooned, manhandling him a little, before resuming the play he'd initiated. "But I'd like to see if you're durable." Lor'themar whimpered, nodding.

She lapped at his ear and he twitched all over as she whispered, "I'm going to put my mouth on you. If you move too much, you may bleed. That might be pleasurable to you in some places ... and certainly not in others." She kissed his ear more seriously, nipping at his ear lobe with the teeth between her tusks as she gave him one last word of warning, "Behave."

They were too close, and Lor'themar was too naked to try to hide his arousal as he nodded distractedly.

Keeping balance with one arm hooked around his back, Borgakh smiled as she grabbed his jaw in one large hand and tilted his head away from her at an angle. She opened her mouth wide, and wrapped her orcish maw threateningly around his throat, pressing her tongue out to feel the heartbeat in his veins. She pulled away and mimicked more bites along his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest; where his nerves or excitement got the better of him and he shifted, causing a soft bloom of blood at the tip of her tusk. Quickly she pulled away and pressed an index finger to the injury on his breast, biting her bottom lip as she admired the tangled and flush position Lor'themar had gotten himself into.

Only when the long lashes of his good eye fluttered open, lighting the din with that dull green glow, could Borgakh tear her gaze from the dark gold and deep red blush of Lor'themar's skin. He ran his hands up her wrist and held her forearm desperately as he whispered in a deep husky drawl, "We have to go faster."

Borgakh grinned with intention as she shoved against his chest to settle him a little. They seemed to be on the same page as he raised his hips to her hands and they both struggled to free him from his remaining clothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What originally came after this was a time skip: a brief description of what Borgakh did during the Legion campaign and then a confrontation after the loss of the Undercity. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to write a happy ending that just cuts off well before any of that. Let me know if you think I should increase the rating to Explicit and elaborate on what comes immediately next in Lor'themar's tent, and whether you want me to go through the Thunder King raid and / or the Garrosh raid. No comments will severely increase the length of time before I revisit this, but I'm still hopeful that you enjoyed reading this far and would love a kudos, regardless - especially if you're a guest!
> 
> Edit: Oh! And I drew some self indulgent bullshit for this: [Here](https://omgkalyppso.tumblr.com/post/182073827541/i-decided-that-no-matter-how-bad-it-is-i-can-draw) and [here](https://omgkalyppso.tumblr.com/post/182098713791) and [here](https://omgkalyppso.tumblr.com/post/182102876901).


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